“Wild enough, the two of them,” Lorth said in a darker mood that Wulfgar had learned to recognize. The creature dipped its beak into its wing.
“We tried to send Nightshade when Rhinne went missing,” Marsin explained. “She wouldn’t respond to the command.” He glanced at Lorth. “For some reason, Master Lorth is the only one she’ll listen to now.”
“Took me two days to talk her into it,” Lorth added, holding out his arm. As the raven hopped onto it, he caressed her with a curious gaze. “She went a bit off after that night at the inn. But Rhinne is singular.” He drew the creature close and spoke to her in a weird tongue. As he lifted his arm, the raven fluttered up and wheeled to the northwest, vanishing over the roofs beyond the inn.
“We’ll be at the Vine,” the hunter said to Marsin. “If Nightshade returns here come find me.”
“Aye, Master.” Flashing a brief smile stained with unease, the sailor turned and ascended the steps to the inn.
Wulfgar drew his cloak around him as he fell in step with his companion. “We’ve a storm frowning,” he said. “By dawn she’ll moan and keep our ships in port for two days.”
Lorth glanced up at the opaque sky. “My friend Cimri used to talk like that. He hailed from Waleis. Had a right weird sense for weather, beyond what the Eye taught him.” He smiled. “I don’t think I ever heard him complain about the cold.”
“In the Isles, be all we ever did.”
They wound through the busy streets. After a time, the hunter turned down a quieter way lined by trees and simple houses. Two men walked in front of them a short distance ahead. They reached a small clearing and turned into it. Lorth followed them to a two-story stone house set back from the street, surrounded by older, taller trees. Warm light glowed from small windows with diamond-shaped panes. Two large torches burned on either side of a green arched door. A simple sign hung there, painted with purplish ivy and the words, “The Purple Vine.”
“The venison here is excellent,” Lorth said as they entered the interior. In a lower voice, he added, “The women are nice, too.” Wulfgar cast him a look to see if he was serious. No telling, with him.
The tavern had a low ceiling, wooden walls blackened by centuries of woodsmoke, and tables tucked here and there into small spaces. The walls were covered with oiled vines and shields with standards from all over the world painted on them. A life sized wooden carving of a hind stood near one wall, a wreath of ivy encircling its neck. Lorth nodded to several of the patrons as he threaded through the place to the back corner, where a table stood empty. Wulfgar noted that it commanded a good view of the room, including a nondescript door on one side of the bar.
“One might think they saved it for you,” he said as they slid into their seats.
Lorth grinned like a wolf. “Not exactly.”
Wulfgar smiled but didn’t pursue it; he had not only grown accustomed to Lorth’s cryptic comments but also wise enough to know that asking questions only led to more questions. He leaned back and surveyed the room. Plain folk, some dressed in finer threads, and no wizards. Several women in green and purple smocks moved around the room, attending to plates, smiles and drinks. Wulfgar relaxed, feeling suddenly tired.
“Master Lorth!” a woman said cheerily as she approached their table. She set down two glasses and filled them with gold-colored wine. “How good to see you again.” She was lean and fair, with dark curly hair and a mischievous smile. Her earthy voice and the artful way she stood there holding the bottle warmed Wulfgar’s loins like a sigh.
“Elspeth,” Lorth greeted her. He gestured. “This is Wulfgar. He hails from the Gray Isles.”
As the maid turned to him, Wulfgar’s voice caught. He cleared his throat. “Charmed.”
She smiled like a little girl. “To be sure. What’ll ye have?” She looked between them. Lorth ordered them food, and Wulfgar some whisky. As she left them, he caught the scent of violets.
Lorth leaned forward with an expression of amusement. “Charmed?” he echoed. He picked up his glass and held it up to the light and then took a long drink. It was the color of the sun. Mison, he called it. Wulfgar couldn’t stand the stuff.
“Where I come from, everyone knows who I am,” the prince said, his cheeks warm. “Women find me.”
“The price of lineage,” Lorth said, lowering his glass. “Aspiring queens, lonely mistresses, and spies.” He breathed a laugh in reference to Wulfgar’s account of Sael. The hunter had brushed with death enough times that he found it amusing Wulfgar had nearly met his end by the machinations of a courtesan.
“Sooth,” Wulfgar agreed. He watched Elspeth move around the room, graceful and attentive. She threw a glance his way and caught him watching her. “You weren’t kidding about the women here.” He reached for his abandoned glass of mison and drained half of it. “I’d give my sword for a night with her.”
Lorth started to say something, then closed his mouth and rubbed his face as Elspeth returned balancing two large plates on her arm. “Here you are,” she said gently, setting Wulfgar’s whisky before him, followed by his plate. As she served Lorth, she said, “War brewing, I hear.” Her serious countenance might have passed for innocence. Or not.
“In my homeland,” Wulfgar said, immediately regretting he had done so.
“Ay? You’re in the thick of it then.” She lifted her chin towards Lorth. “Good you know him.” Her arch smile broke into a peal of birdsong laughter as she moved away.
Wulfgar slid back in his seat with a groan.
“Och!” the wizard said, picking up his knife and shaking with laughter. “Poor bastard. Been that long?”
Wulfgar watched the maid move across the room, her hips swaying easily. He shook his head and fell to his meal. “Something more there. She knows you. Tell me you haven’t had her.”
Chewing, Lorth shook his head. “Not her. This is a known meeting place for informants. The help is used to seeing me around.” He raised his head and looked into the room. “But that one there, with the blonde braids...” He made a sound in his throat.
Before Wulfgar could comment or ask the next question on his mind, the hunter put down his fork and turned his head slightly. He breathed a strange word. Wulfgar kept silent and didn’t interrupt the wizard’s concentration. After a few moments, Lorth’s eyes came into focus. “I’ll return shortly.” He rose and crossed the room. Several men looked up from a table as the wizard made a strange motion with his hand. One of them rose and gave him his seat.
As Wulfgar returned to his meal, his attention was caught by a flash of green. Elspeth wriggled into Lorth’s seat, pushed his plate aside and leaned her elbows on the table with a careless smile. Her dark blue eyes moved sidelong for a moment, then back. “Up to his tricks, I see.”
Wulfgar nodded, swallowing hard. In a rare moment of self-doubt, he had nothing to say. His heart started to thump. He knew better than to assume the girls in here were all in the business of servicing patrons. Lorth’s escapade with the blonde could have been anything. An abyss opened before him as he realized how little his lust cared for the man he had become since the Riven God had arrived on Tromb.
Elspeth tilted her face down to get his attention. “Wulfgar? Have I done something to...?”
“No!” On a whim, he reached across the table and touched her hand. She moved it closer, twining a finger over his. “Forgive my mood.” He gave her a smile and then looked into the room for Lorth.
The table where the wizard had sat was empty. “Did you see him leave?” he asked suddenly.
She leaned forward to see. “Must have stepped out. He’s a strange one, Master Lorth. No one knows what he’s about.” She leaned back with a breath, causing her breasts to bounce a little beneath her smock. “How do you know him?”
Wulfgar hesitated between wondering where the hunter had gone and wanting to be in this woman’s company. “Long story, that,” he said, caressing her hand. It was soft and warm.
She smiled through shadows. “You are
burdened with darkness. Would you like to go somewhere private?” Her cheeks flushed. “I am free for the evening.”
Wulfgar rose, paid for dinner, slipped through the door by the bar and was halfway up the stairs behind her before his better sense began to chide him. He ignored it.
She brought him to a plain room with a small hearth, furniture carved from black wood and a bed. It smelled of kitchen herbs. Some kind of plant grew in a pot near the window and had climbed up the frame and onto the ceiling molding. Now that he was here, Wulfgar had no idea what to do. His lust hadn’t gone far, grief and trouble notwithstanding. But he couldn’t bring himself to take this woman’s love for fun or coin. Somehow, she captured his heart in another way.
The room was cold. Wulfgar shed his cloak and sword and moved to the hearth, gathered some sticks from a bin and coaxed the coals into flames. He placed some bigger pieces on it with ludicrous care, then stood up and turned around. Elspeth had lit several candles. She sat on the bed, still dressed, with her back propped up against the headboard. She watched him like a curious animal, firelight flickering in her eyes. He saw desire there, but also doubt.
“Are you of another mind?” she asked softly.
Wulfgar moved to the bed, sat and pulled off his boots. He had no clear idea why she had invited him up here, but it wouldn’t do well to ask. He rolled up onto the mattress and lay beside her, gathering her into his arms with a long breath that nearly brought tears to his eyes. He couldn’t recall feeling vulnerable with a woman before. And this one was as guileless and wild as a fox cub.
However it began, a tear, perhaps an unanswered question, a breath, a touch; grief found him like a persistent assassin with a bit of luck, grief he hadn’t released for fear of something or someone taking him down in a weak moment. Elspeth held him like the earth, and didn’t pry; but talked softly about herbs and rivers, a tree she had planted south of town near the sea’s edge, a pet crow she had kept as a child. She traced her fingers over the contours of his amulet. Then she smiled, finishing him with her strangely innocent yet knowing way. He touched her lips, her hair, and her face, caressed her with his mouth and breathed her scent.
As they undressed each other, Wulfgar half stripped the under-smock from her body, tearing it as he brought her under him. She yielded with a catch in her breath as he parted her thighs and found the depths of her. He moved on her with the patience of good whisky until release shook him. His heart pounding wildly, he moved aside and gathered her close. Then he found her again, this time with lingering care, making love to her until she breathed in long gasps and arched her back with a feline cry that turned his mind to stars.
As they lay together, Wulfgar dozed. The fire crackled and wind troubled the woods outside. A swift river of ocean tides, birds and swords rushed through his mind, parting to her voice.
“Wulfgar,” she whispered.
Sleep clung to him. “Hmm.”
“Get dressed.”
Wulfgar awoke with a warrior’s reflex. “What?”
She moved away and began pawing around on the bed and floor for their clothes. Her face was set in the flickering candlelight. One of the candles sputtered out, leaving an acrid scent in the room. “Get dressed!” she repeated.
He pushed himself up on one elbow. Elspeth tossed his breeches and shirt in his direction, then dragged a smock over her body. “Elspeth?” he said, wondering if he had overstayed his welcome or taken some unseen liberty with her.
Her mood changed from urgency to demand. “Get up! You have to leave.”
Rattled by her shift in mood, Wulfgar rose and did as she asked. Every mysterious thing about her became instantly suspect as he grabbed his shirt and put it on.
He froze as his amulet grew cold on his chest.
His heart was colder. After clutching the icy serpent to make sure, he swung around. “How did you know?”
Elspeth opened her mouth, her face pale as snow. She backed up a step and shook her head.
Wulfgar grabbed his sword, slinging the strap over his shoulders as he moved to the door. He drew the blade and pressed his face against the wood. The sounds of voices, music and clinking dishes came from the tavern downstairs. The serpent, though still cold, did not stir. He cracked the door and inspected the hall. It was empty.
Sword in hand, Wulfgar closed the door and then the distance to the girl. He gripped her by the shoulder, causing her to make a small sound of alarm. “You couldn’t have heard him. How did you...”
She hissed a breath as the door opened behind them, bringing a cold draft. Wulfgar’s amulet recoiled over his heart as a dark blur flooded the room. He clearly saw the form of a man, but he knew Elspeth couldn’t. A sword in one hand and a knife in the other, the assassin covered the space like an owl, swift and soundless. Wulfgar blocked him with a shout; the next swing of his blade struck a candleholder on the stand by the bed. Wax splattered over the wall and floor, snuffing the flame.
The warlock’s face came into view as his sword flashed out from the shadows; calm, resolute, his eyes empty of all intentions but one. Wulfgar knew this was not about Eifin’s book anymore. This man intended to kill him.
Elspeth fled past the hearth towards the windows. Wulfgar parried a devastating blow, and then another, as she edged around the room. Her presence, the scent of sex and fear in his sweat and the fact that he had just basically accused her of exposing him to the oborom compromised his reflexes, making him less focused than his survival demanded.
The warlock gave him a split-second reprieve by lifting his blade. As Wulfgar moved into his guard, the warlock swung around, eluded the slash and threw a knife.
Elspeth screamed and slumped against the wall near the door.
Before a cry could escape Wulfgar’s lips, the assassin came at him again with a series of thrusts aimed at disorientation. Wulfgar stumbled back, parrying blind through a haze of rage. He slammed into the wall and then ducked to avoid a cut. The warlock’s sword struck the edge of the mantel, sending shards of stone across the hearth.
Someone pounded on the door with a shout. Wulfgar jumped up and thrust his sword into the space between the fist and the voice, nearly catching the assassin in the side. He parried it and whirled out of the way. In a heartbeat, the warlock moved to the window, opened it and dropped through without a sound.
Wulfgar didn’t waste time in pursuit. He reached Elspeth just as someone burst through the door. “Hold!” barked a man in a red cloak, followed by another. Two Raptors muscled into the room. One of them strode to the open window and looked out.
“Assassin,” Wulfgar said. “Hit her with a knife.” Clutching the wound in her side, Elspeth breathed very faintly, her face shroud-white, her lips purplish. She had managed to pull the knife out; it lay on the floor by her side. Wulfgar took her face in his hands with a tender word as her eyes came into focus, dull blue and filled with tears. She tried to say something, but no sound came out. It could have been a confession or a denial; he no longer cared—prostitute, spy, assassin, witch—damn the world that he even had to think of it, now.
“Who are you?” the first Raptor demanded. The other returned and moved to Wulfgar’s side.
Wulfgar ignored them as he gently moved his lover’s bloody hand from the wound. Sickness flooded his heart as he studied the edges of her flesh around the cut, pale green as sea foam.
Graestrip.
“Move away,” the Raptor commanded. His sword hissed from its sheath.
“She’s been poisoned,” Wulfgar said, looking up at the point of the wizard’s blade. “I know what it is. I have to get—”
“I said move.” As the men came down to drag him off, Wulfgar’s rage broke free. Growling a curse, he rose with his sword and punched the first Raptor in the face with the pommel so hard it threw him back onto the floor with a crack. He kicked the second man in the gut. As the two of them gathered themselves and closed in on him, Wulfgar spun his sword in a rapid twist.
One of the Raptors uttere
d something in the wizard’s tongue that hit Wulfgar in the chest with a jolt of weakness, buckling him. Evidently, his amulet didn’t defend him from the Eye. He dropped his sword and slumped over his hands and knees, breathing heavily.
He didn’t have the strength to resist as they took his weapons and dragged him from the room like a criminal. “Wait!” he cried, his vision swimming. “You don’t understand. She’ll die if you don’t let me—”
The Raptor he had struck first, his face bloody, returned the blow.
*
“He was wild,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling like a mountain lake under the sun. “So he flew from my hand eventually. I thought I saw him once, in the hawthorn tree by the garden. But I wasn’t sure.” She snuggled close, her breath caressing his neck. “So like my wild crow, you are. Will you not unburden your heart to me?” A smile touched her lips, faint and mysterious as twilight.
Wulfgar opened his eyes to the smell of mold and earth. A tear dried on his cheek. Elspeth. He had told her nothing.
He pushed himself up, his head throbbing with pain. He was in a bare chamber, deep underground it seemed, with a dirt floor and a small arched door. It had an opening barred with iron leaves. As Wulfgar rose and staggered to the door, his foot struck a cup, knocking it over and splashing water all over the ground. He kicked it aside and leaned down into the dim light shining through the bars.
Lorth had once pointed out a place as they walked by, a building of ancient stone surrounded by rowan trees. There was no sign on the arched entrance. Lorth called it the Bird Cage, a colloquial term used by the townsfolk for the underground gaol the Keepers of the Eye used in their darker business. He guessed the Raptors had brought him there.
“Hai!” he yelled. “Is someone there?”
Elspeth was probably dead by now. No one survived graestrip poison without the antidote. He leaned his forehead against the door, his eyes burning as he envisioned her face shining in the candlelight.
The Riven God Page 22